


A Song For Good Company

by DapperSheep



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Glimpses of friendship, Napo has no sense of personal space, Not Canon Compliant, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 07:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15658425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DapperSheep/pseuds/DapperSheep
Summary: Pastel de Nata is used to being alone, enjoyed it even. He liked the quiet, he liked working his craft in peace. On the other hand, Napoleon worries Pastel may be overestimating himself.





	A Song For Good Company

**Author's Note:**

> Since Pastel came home, I got to look through his JP dialogues (ignoring the mistranslations, typos and watered down sentences) and wondered how Napo actually got to like this guy. And then something hit me.
> 
> This is unbeta'd.

His arrival had been met with noise.

Well, arguing to be exact, now that his sense of hearing was beginning to discern what the noise really was. Upon opening his eyes, someone had his back to him and was somehow trying to block another’s view of him.

Not even five minutes in this world and he was already feeling a migraine coming along.

“What… is this?” He grounded out, tone dripping with disdain. That got the attention of the two individuals in front of him.

A slightly shorter person popped their head around and under the man with horns and exclaimed, “Oh! You’re… here. Sorry uh, which one are you again?”

He narrowed his eyes disbelievingly. “Pastel de Nata. You must be my Master Attendant.” Pastel spoke, unenthusiastic and already feeling the connection between them like a string wrapping itself around his very being. The human’s eyes widened and a sort of smug smirk was tossed at the horned man.

“See, Steak? It’s definitely not Red Wine.” The human said at the Food Soul who was caught between looking ashamed and flustered. The human turned back to him and added, “Sorry for the rude welcoming. I am your Master Attendant, thank you for answering my call.”

“A pleasure.” Pastel spoke dismissively. “Are we just going to stand here? I would like to get to work as soon as possible.”

Steak bristled at the words and made to approach him. “You do not have the right-”

“We’re just about wrapping up.” Master Attendant cut Steak off, a wry smile on their face as they grabbed his arm. “You’re the last summons, and my first contract. So that’ll explain why you’re the only one here.”

Pastel didn’t care, to be honest. But he nodded silently all the same. He ignored the fiery glare sent his way by Steak while their Master closed up the summoning circle. Soon enough, they were walking out of the cavernous room that was Gloriville’s public summoning station.

He allowed the chattering pair of Food Soul and Master Attendant to walk ahead of him as he trailed behind in silence, taking in his surroundings with only the barest anticipation of what this world would offer him.

 

 

A month had passed with little incident.

Pastel worked in relative silence and in absolute isolation in the room recently built for the purpose of pastry making.

It was because of him that his Master Attendant was forced to build a workspace separate from the hot kitchen. He wondered briefly why they hadn’t thought of doing it before. But he never did pursue that line of questioning after he’d barely missed getting a sword in his gut just for commenting that he did not work in a noisy environment. Or that Master Attendant really needed to have more than one kitchen for everything.

Whatever, at least he had his own space to work in. A few other Food Souls also shared his workspace once in a while, but they were often quick about it, or Pastel would wait until they were finished. Sometimes, when he’s in the mood for it and the other Food Soul wasn’t a chatty one, they would share the space.

His Master Attendant didn’t have him on any team, but he was tasked with making pastries to add onto the menu for the restaurant or for deliveries. He could say with confidence that it was a task he fully believed he could handle. After all, that was his exceptional talent as a Food Soul.

“Pas. Tel~! Are you in here?”

Shortly after the question, a brunette popped his head into the room and half-lidded auburn eyes immediately fell on him. Pastel ignored the Food Soul and continued to keenly watch the two large saucepans containing the milk and sugar-cinnamon mixture, respectively.

Unperturbed, Napoleon fully walked into the room with a little skip in his step. “Ah, working late again. You’re so dedicated to the craft, Pastel!” He said cheerfully.

“It’s four in the morning. I doubt that counts as ‘late’. Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?” Pastel shot him a quick glare.

“Nope~ It’s four in the morning and I’m free to roam as I please.” Napoleon singsonged. By then, Pastel had returned his attention back to his work, but he heard Napoleon’s easy steps coming closer until the other was by his side and peering into one of the pans. His ridiculous hat took up his peripheral view.

“Looks like it’s coming along nicely.”

“Napoleon.” Pastel grounded out, trying and succeeding in keeping his voice as leveled as he could. “I can’t work if you keep getting into my space.”

“So mean.” Napoleon pouted. “You’ve been working since- Midnight? Everyone’s gone off to do things and I’m bored. And hungry. Do you happen to have any trimmings or rejects?”

Any other time Pastel would have bodily dragged Napoleon out of the kitchen, but he was at a crucial stage of the baking process so he couldn’t leave his station for even a second. “If I can make a thousand egg tarts to shove into your mouth just to shut you up, I would.” Pastel said testily, and it didn’t get any better as Napoleon smiled merrily back at him.

“You always make really good pastries. I wouldn’t mind that.”

 _'There was no ruining this guy’s good mood, is there?'_ Pastel relented for now, but he shoved Napoleon’s face away with an elbow. The surprised yelp it earned him certainly helped lighten his mood slightly.

Seeing the milk properly scalded, Pastel took a hold of the saucepan and carried it over to a large bowl of flour. Taking a whisk, he carefully whisked in the hot milk until no solid lumps of flour was left. Quickly, he checked on the last saucepan and brought it over as well, removing the cinnamon stick before pouring the syrup into the mix in a thin, steady stream while his other hand was briskly whisking.

He stirred in a few drops of vanilla essence, watching as the consistency slowly became what it should be at this stage. He slowly stopped whisking, then turned around to break some eggs-

\- Only to find that Napoleon was handing him a small bowl of whisked egg yolks. Pastel scrunched his nose at the contents, then looked at Napoleon who had a tiny bright smile plastered to his face.

“Correct number of yolks.” Napoleon shrugged lightly.

“How would you even know the number?”

“I watch you enough that I know your ingredients list by heart.” The brunette Food Soul replied. Pastel threw him another look before reluctantly taking the bowl and whisking the yolks in.

He mulled over Napoleon’s words. If there was anything he could trust the other Food Soul to be, it’s that he had a good grasp of baking. That was expected anyway, having the namesake of a dessert pastry.

Loathe as Pastel was to admit it, Napoleon’s milfeuilles had a certain delicious flavor to them that Pastel was unable to recreate. Not a lot of Food Souls could outdo him when it comes to pastries. So it was probably that same begrudging admiration that allowed him to tolerate Napoleon’s presence, because if it had been any other Food Soul, he would have likely tossed them out on their ear while lecturing them as well.

Pastel strained the mixture into a different bowl, then covered it and carried it over to a shelf where four other large bowls of custard was cooling.

Taking a step back, Pastel allowed himself a breath. Right, this was done, he should get started on the custard for the crème brulee as well.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Napoleon make himself comfortable over by the open window, singing softly to himself. It wasn’t a tune Pastel was familiar with, but like all the other times Napoleon started singing at odd hours, the Food Soul had gotten used to it.

It was a familiar routine they sort of shared. The only difference this time was that Napoleon had reached out to help, even though it was insignificant.

With a quick gesture of his hand, the used utensils and bowls started to clean themselves, then began to manually wipe down the counters. The downside to working alone was that he had to clean all the utensils on his own, either manually or by his own magic. It was a hassle, but one he could live with if it meant he didn’t have to be in charge of someone else.

As the last of the utensils was cleaned of its mess, Pastel set up what he needed for the crème brulee and reached for a tray of eggs-

Until a sharp sense of vertigo overtook him and he staggered sideways.

‘What the...’ His vision blurred dangerously, and it wasn’t getting any better. A feeling of coldness was gnawing at his insides, slowly growing more fervent and hungry as he felt it claw up from his belly. In a moment of blind panic, he reached out and tried to steady himself but failed to grasp anything solid.

Somewhere in the cold darkness quickly devouring his senses, he noticed that the soft singing had stopped.

Napoleon? What happened to him?

Was this thing also affecting him as well?

It was all he could think of before the darkness plunged his thoughts into silence.

 

 

The next time he opened his eyes, he found himself looking up at a blurry figure, a halo of light around them. He made a confused grunt, his senses returning too sluggishly for his taste.

“Bonjour~ Are you back with me now?” The question reached him in a familiar voice. It spurred him closer to awareness, and he made to sit up and away if not for Napoleon firmly pressing his hands down on Pastel’s shoulders and keeping him immobile.

“The… Napoleon. Get your filthy hands-”

“When was the last time you’ve slept, Pastel? Or used the Rink?” Napoleon interrupted. Gone was the playful lilt of his voice, replaced instead by an uncharacteristic edge of bold concern.

Pastel frowned. “Food Souls don’t sleep. They can’t die like humans.” He said matter-of-factly.

“In most cases, that is true.” Napoleon hummed quietly above him. “But not when you’ve been working without rest. I guess you haven’t heard what happened with Coffee, hm?”

Pastel had heard of the blonde Food Soul, but he was busy manning his own cafe that their paths had never crossed. Besides, what happened to other Food Souls wasn’t his problem.

“I don’t, and I don’t care.”

Napoleon chuckled before helping him up. Pastel had a moment to realize that he collapsed on the floor he hadn’t cleaned yet. He grimaced.

“In any case, can you imagine returning to our Master Attendant’s side and you need to explain why you so happened to rudely awaken them at this time?” Napoleon tilted his head as he asked.

Pastel sent him a cold look. Of course he can. He could just tell it as it is, and then head back to work after that. What else was there to say? Lie to their Master Attendant about what made him collapse? He was harsh, he knew this, but he was no liar.

His face likely spoke volumes of his unspoken thoughts because Napoleon’s smile fell into a frown. The Food Soul sighed. “Pastel. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

The Food Soul stiffened and curled his lips into a sneer. “And? You’re not the one with a task to complete all of this to feed a banquet that’s due to happen in twelve hours.”

In truth though, Master Attendant had wanted to refuse the order but the client was the type who wouldn’t take no for an answer. The fat, balding man felt that his Master was doing him a disservice just by saying, ‘It’s impossible with the time limit’.

Pastel had stepped in then, and that had led to the situation he was in now.

“It’s food that can be completed in due time with _more help_.” Napoleon emphasized the last two words. “I’m not saying you should seek assistance all the time but… perhaps, I could help you complete this order? Given that you do rest first.”

And here it was. Pastel paused and glanced at Napoleon, studying him with a critical eye. He could say no. His default response was always to put a wall between himself and others because they simply couldn’t understand what and why he did things the way he did, and explaining it all the time was tedious and a complete waste of his time.

However, there was a limit to stubbornness and Pastel wasn’t stupid enough to keep insisting on it. Napoleon was nice, has been genuinely nice to him since the moment they’ve met and he wasn’t unaware of that. Accepting his help wasn’t a stain on his ability to make pastries of caliber, nor a blow to his pride.

“You’re going to make me say this, aren’t you?” Pastel intoned, his shoulders deflating slightly.

Napoleon shook his head. “Not if you’re not willing, non.” He answered.

 _Not a blow to his pride at all._ “Fine. Then I will rest, and you can help me get this over with.”

The Food Soul gestured to a low stack of sturdy crates against the wall. Pastel sniffed at the makeshift seat, but there was no helping it. He approached and seated himself, adjusting slightly until he found the most comfortable position he could. It didn’t take long for Napoleon to join him on the crate, as Pastel glared in unabashed judgment of the Food Soul.

‘No sense of personal space. At. All.’ He thought wryly. ‘At least the stupid hat is in his hands instead of on his head.’

“Just a while, Pastel.” Napoleon murmured close to his ear. “I’ll wake you when the custard’s ready to be poured.”

“One hour.” Pastel stated firmly. Beside him, Napoleon let out an uncharacteristic sigh before relenting.

He closed his eyes, allowing the odd but comforting sensation of sleep to quickly take hold of him. The fatigue he had ignored throughout the day began to ebb along with the slowing halt of his thoughts.

This time, as he went willingly into darkness, the gentle murmurs of a song accompanied him.

**Author's Note:**

> Should have been working on Two Words, but got distracted with this for the weekend. This is just my take on how two Food Souls with conflicting personalities actually have mutual link skills (which is more or less, an unspoken bond of trust). That, and Pastel feeds Napo's sweet tooth.


End file.
